Sarah's School Friend Part 22

Horatia had been looking from one to the other, listening with her quick, eager look to the conversation, and longing to join in it, but half-afraid for fear of vexing Sarah; but now she could no longer resist the temptation. 'Can't we all go on our way to the mills? I should like to see a mill-hand's cottage, and I needn't go into the sick-room at all.'

Mrs Clay looked relieved. 'I'd far rather 'ave it so, Sarah. You don't know for certain that it isn't 'oopin'-cough or somethin' o' that sort.

Women are that ignorant,' she declared.

'Martha Mickleroyd isn't ignorant; she's a very clever woman, and no more ignorant than--lots of ladies,' Sarah finished hurriedly. She had nearly said, 'than you are,' but luckily remembered in time.

'I believe that; but it isn't every lady that knows as much about illness as I do; an' as Miss 'Oratia 'ere wants to go to see a mill-'and's 'ome'----Mrs Clay was saying.

But Sarah broke in with impatience, 'One would think we were Hottentots or savages, or something, by the way Horatia talks!

Horatia coloured as she answered, 'Oh, but indeed I don't; you quite mistake me. Father is very much interested in the housing question, and all sorts of things that have to do with the poor, and putting stone baths in their houses, and all that will make them healthier,' she explained eagerly.

'Very kind of your father, I'm sure, my dear; but I think you'd better not talk about stone baths for the Mickleroyds. Mark won't 'ave it. 'E won't, indeed; 'e told Luke Mickleroyd so,' said Mrs Clay.

Sarah's lip curled. 'If that child has no bath to be put into it will die, and it'll be his fault, then,' she observed, as she rose from the table.

'No, it won't; it'll be the fault of its mother, who hasn't a small bath in her house,' said Horatia.

Horatia had spoken on the impulse of the moment, without any thought of contradicting or annoying Sarah; but the latter cast her a furious look, and then, drawing herself up, said, 'When will you be ready to start?'

Horatia felt crushed by Sarah's manner; but it was so uncomfortable to start out in the morning in this way that she determined to try to conciliate her. 'Don't be horrid and up in the clouds above us all;' and she took Sarah's arm with a coaxing smile.

Sarah could not help smiling, for this was an old school accusation which Horatia had made when Sarah once asked how she looked proud and haughty, and the girls had all laughed at it. 'I don't feel there; I've told you that before; but you can't or won't understand how I hate and despise it all.'

'Well, never mind; let's go and see those Mickleroyds. You don't hate and despise them,' said Horatia.

Half-an-hour later the party in the motor stopped at the point of the main street from which a 'ginnel' or alley led to the Mickleroyds' house, in one of the oldest parts of the town, and quite near the mills.

Luke Mickleroyd, as will be remembered, was the chief watchman of Clay's Mills, and could have afforded a nice little house in the suburbs on the tram-line, for he earned good wages; but he found it more convenient to be close to the mills, so that he could rest between his rounds, and in cold weather warm and refresh himself during the night.

'What a funny old place! I wonder they don't pull it down,' said Horatia, as she picked her way over uneven and broken paving-stones to the house, which had steps, with no bal.u.s.trade, leading down to an open cellar-door and up to another door.

'It belongs to my father,' said Sarah curtly.

Horatia said no more, and determined not to make any comments whatever she saw, 'not even if the paper were hanging off the walls and the place in ruins,' she said to herself.

But once they were inside the cottage the scene was changed. Everything was spotlessly clean; the walls were prettily papered; the furniture was handsome and old-fashioned; and Maria Mickleroyd came forward with a pleasant smile on her tired, anxious face. 'Pleased to see you, Mrs Clay, and Miss Sarah; and you've brought Omi,' p.r.o.nounced 'Oh my,' to Horatia's amus.e.m.e.nt. 'That's main kind of you. Little Ruthie's dropped off into a lovely sleep for the minute; but, thank you, I shall be glad to have Omi for the day, if Miss Sarah is sure she can spare her, for I shall be up to-night again, and I might rest a bit by-and-by. Luke's resting now.'

'No, I'm not resting, missus,' said Luke Mickleroyd, coming down a narrow staircase. 'I've had my sleep, and was coming to take a turn at watching.

I ought to be good at that, seeing it's my trade; but Miss Sarah's found us some one better, I see, in Omi.'

'We're glad to know the child is better, Luke,' said Mrs Clay, as she added some suggestions about the child's treatment. 'An' now we're goin'

on to the mills; but if the doctor orders anythin' special, or Ruthie fancies w'at you can't get, be sure an' send up to us. The master won't grudge you that. An' if you want Naomi the night, keep 'er, so long as we know. Jane Mary could come wi' the message after the mills are out. A walk would do her good.'

'Jane Mary won't come nigh Balmoral,' put in Naomi suddenly.

'How'd thy tongue, Omi!' said her father, and Naomi subsided.

'Jane Mary should do w'at she's told; she's too independent,' said Mrs Clay, and, with a short 'Good-morning,' they all went off.

Sarah turned to wave a friendly farewell, whereupon Mrs Clay said, with some irritation, 'It seems to me, Sarah, that folk 'ave only got to be nasty to your father for you to like 'em. It's not much good goin' on like that. You know w'at the Bible says: a 'ouse divided against itself cannot stand.'

'I wonder if that's true,' said Sarah gravely.

'Sarah, 'owever dare you!' exclaimed Mrs Clay; and even Horatia looked rather shocked at this remark.

'Oh, I'm not talking about the Bible; of course I believe that. I meant what you said,' explained Sarah. But this was not much better.

'Thank you, Sarah. W'atever I said, I 'ope it was true. I'm not in the 'abit of tellin' untruths.' Mrs Clay had forgotten what she had said.

'You only said what you thought, and we can all make that kind of mistake. I only meant that I wonder whether I do like people better if they dislike father.'

'Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself, for 'e's a good father. An'

look at all these mills; every brick is 'is an' built by 'im--'is money, I mean--an' thousan's of poun's' worth of wool goods sent out every week--well-made goods, too, as every one will tell you. 'E's a wonderful man is your father, an' one to be proud of, not despised. Most girls would 'old their 'eads 'igh for bein' 'is daughter, not 'old it 'igh to despite 'im.--Oh, good-mornin', my men! good-mornin'!' Mrs Clay exclaimed, as the gates were thrown open for them to enter, and she saw some men crossing the yard.

The men replied by a surly 'Good-morning;' one or two touched their hats, but the most of them took no notice of the master's wife and daughter at all.

Mark Clay met them at the door of his private office, a plainly furnished little room, the same now as it had been thirty years before, when it had been just built. 'This is my private room,' he said.

Horatia looked round with interest. 'It's a very business-like-looking room,' she said, after searching in vain for something more complimentary to say.

'That's the biggest compliment you can pay it, and it is a true one, too.

There's millions have pa.s.sed through my hands in this room,' he said proudly.

''Ave you 'eard that Luke Mickleroyd nearly lost his little Ruth in the night?' said Mrs Clay. 'We've just been to see 'em an' leave Naomi there.'

Mrs Clay never liked to take the responsibility of doing anything herself; but Mark Clay turned to her more angrily than Horatia had ever seen him, and said, 'I won't have you go to the hands, encouraging them in independence and idleness. You call for Naomi on your way back. Do you hear? She doesn't get wages for nursing her sister. What's her mother there for?'

'But, Mark, the mother's got the 'ouse to clean an' meals to cook; they're such a large family, an' useful to us,' protested Mrs Clay.

'I don't care. I won't have it, I say. I shall have the other girl wanting her day off; so you do as I tell you. If the mother can't see to the girl, let her go to the hospital. What do I pay to the hospitals for if it isn't for them to be useful to me? You can tell her so on your way home, and take Naomi back with you to her work,' bl.u.s.tered Mark Clay.

'Oh, are we going straight home? I thought we could, perhaps, go to Fountains Abbey to-day, and you would come with us?' cried Horatia.

Sarah shot a quick look of surprise at her friend, who added, 'You said I might choose what I liked best to do every day, didn't you, Sarah?'

'Of course,' said Sarah.

'But, my dear, w'yever didn't you mention it before we started? We would 'ave taken a picnic-basket along wi' us,' cried Mrs Clay.

'That doesn't matter, Polly; send Fox for it while we're looking over the mills. That's a good idea of the la.s.s. We'll all go to Fountains. Do you go and telephone to them to put in plenty of champagne and lemonade for the girls,' said the mill-owner boisterously.

Mrs Clay hurried off to the telephone to give her directions, while Mark Clay started with the two girls over the mills.

'I couldn't write an essay on this,' said Horatia, as they were hurried through yard after yard, on each side of which were doors which the millionaire just ordered to be opened, and into which they gave a peep as he told them, 'In there there's thousands of pounds' worth of rags and wool for blankets,' or 'cloth,' as the case might be.

'My father doesn't want you to; he only wants you to see what a huge business he has. I hope he has succeeded,' said Sarah.

Horatia was saved the trouble of answering, for they now entered the room where the machinery drowned every sound. 'Doesn't it make them deaf or make their heads ache?' she shouted at length to Mark Clay.